Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Shapely Shadow

“And you were particularly easy to get acquainted with as far as wealthy men were concerned who were in a position to spend money on the gambling tables. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes!” she snapped.

“And, having become acquainted with them, you made it a point to encourage them in their gambling. You kept hanging around the gambling tables doing a little gambling of your own and chatting with these men so that they would continue their gambling after they might otherwise have quit.”

“As a hostess I tried to be attractive.”

“And you were frequently at the gambling tables?”

“Yes.”

“You used chips?”

“Always.”

“Now then, when you first met Morley L. Theilman, he was gambling at a table, was he not?”

“I believe he was.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Yes, I think he was.”

“And you were gambling at that table?”

“Yes.”

“With chips?”

“I’ve told you. I always used chips.”

“And they were a special chip, were they not? They were not redeem-able. You had these chips given to you. You gambled with them but they couldn’t be redeemed for money. Your gambling was simply an act.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you want these jurors to believe you don’t know what is meant by the term ‘shill’?” Mason asked.

“I’ve heard the term used.”

“Have you ever used it?”

“I... I may have.”

“Did you use the term without knowing what it meant?”

“Well, I knew what it meant in the sense that I used it.”

“And what was the sense in which you used it?”

“Well, a shill is a come-on.”

“Exactly,” Mason said. “So when you told me that you didn’t know what a shill meant, you were not being entirely frank, were you?”

“Oh, Your Honor,” Ruskin said, “this is attempting to browbeat the witness. The question is argumentative, it is not proper cross-examination, it—”

“Overruled,” Judge Seymour snapped.

“Answer the question,” Mason said.

“Well, I didn’t know the sense in which you used the term. You made it sound rather... rather...”

“Undignified?” Mason prompted.

“Something like that.”

“You considered yourself dignified?”

“I tried to be dignified.”

“And ladylike?”

“Yes.”

“But, nevertheless, to use your own words, you were a come-on.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, all right. I was a come-on.”

“Now,” Mason said, “when you first met Morley L. Theilman, you went to a table where he was already gambling, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“Did someone direct you to go to that table, some person who represented your employer and who pointed out Morley Theilman to you? Didn’t this person tell you to go over there and get to work on him? Isn’t that right?”

“The expression, ‘get to work on him,’ wasn’t used.”

“But you knew what was meant?”

“As a hostess I went to the table, and when Mr. Theilman won, I smiled at him and that broke the ice.”

“What ice?” Mason asked.

“Well, you know, it gave him a chance to get acquainted.”

“Did you think there was ice?”

“I used the expression as a figure of speech.”

“And I am using it as a figure of speech,” Mason said. “I didn’t mean that there were icicles dripping all over this tight-clinging gown that you were wearing. I realized that you referred to ice in a figurative manner of speaking and I used the term in the same sense. Now, was there any ice to break?”

“It depends on how you look at it.”

“You went over there to get acquainted with him?”

“Well...”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” she blazed. And then suddenly raising her voice and her eyes, said, “I was employed as a hostess. You don’t need to act so dumb, Perry Mason. You’ve been to Las Vegas.”

Mason bowed and said, “Exactly. And thank you very much, Mrs. Theilman. I was simply trying to get the picture clear for the jurors.”

“If the Court please,” Ruskin said, “I must insist that counsel’s attitude toward this witness is manifestly unfair, that he is browbeating the witness and trying to put her in a false light before the jury. This woman is a widow. She has been bereaved by a crime of murder committed by—”

“Now, just a minute,” Mason interrupted. “There is no question before the Court; there is no reason for counsel to argue the case at this time.”

“But I object to having this woman held up in front of this jury as a strumpet,” Ruskin shouted.

“And I object to having her held up as a mealy-mouthed, persecuted, bereaved widow simply so the prosecutor can play on the sympathies of the jury,” Mason retorted.

Judge Seymour frowned. “There is at the present time no question before the Court, therefore there is no reason to make an objection. The jurors are called upon to see the witnesses, to watch their demeanor on the stand, to form their own opinions as to the facts. The prosecutor has one theory of the case, the defense has another. Please try to avoid personalities, gentlemen. You may proceed, Mr. Mason.”

By this time all vestige of the fragile, helpless, bereaved widow had left the witness. She was sitting slightly forward on the witness stand, her chin up, her eyes blazing with anger at Perry Mason.

“Now then,” Mason said, “you saw this letter in your husband’s pocket.”

“If you want to call it a letter — a blackmail demand,” she snapped.

“And the envelope.”

“And the envelope,” she mimicked.

“And the envelope had the return address in the upper left-hand corner and the name of A. B. Vidal.”

“And,” she mimicked, “the envelope had the name in the upper left-hand corner, A. B. Vidal.”

She was now thoroughly angry and making no attempt to conceal her emotions.

“Now, you say this was a blackmail letter,” Mason said. “How do you know it was blackmail?”

“How do I know anything?” she blazed. “What did you think it was, an invitation to a dance?”

There was a titter of merriment in the courtroom which Judge Seymour frowned into silence.

“And the return address on the envelope gave the name of A. B. Vidal.”

Again she mimicked him. “The return address on the envelope gave the name of A. B. Vidal, Mr. Mason.”

“Now then,” Mason said, “please tell the jury what your maiden name was, Mrs. Theilman.”

“My name,” she said, “was Day Dawns.”

“Was that the name with which you were christened?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was there at the time but I couldn’t remember the occurrence.”

“Was that the name you used when you first entered school?” Mason asked.

“I don’t remember when I first entered school.”

“Was it the name you used at the age of twelve?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “It was a professional name, as you should realize, Mr. Mason. It was intended to be a professional name.”

“I see,” Mason said, “and what was your real name?”

“I...”

“Yes, go on,” Mason said.

“Agnes,” she said.

“Agnes what?”

“Agnes Vidal!” she shouted.

“Thank you,” Mason said. “That is all.”

Ruskin said, in a quietly soothing voice, “Now, just a moment, Mrs. Theilman. I can appreciate your anger at being subjected to the veiled insinuations of counsel. I am asking you now please to face the jury and explain to them why the name A. B. Vidal meant nothing to you when you saw it on the upper left-hand corner of this envelope as a return address.”

“I felt,” she said, struggling to get back into her act of demure bereavement, “that some blackmailer was using the name Vidal in order to impress my husband that he knew... well, all about me.”